Page 96 of The Call-Up
“We’re right back in this!” Danton yells as he joins us, patting my head.
Over Ryan’s shoulder, I see Ander as he gets back up. He looks right at me. I expect him to be pissed. Instead, he’s laughing.
“Enjoy it, baby brother! That’s the last time you’re getting one past me.”
THIRTY-SIX
Ryan
Unfortunately, Ander’s declaration was right. Not only did we lose game one after Connor scored a game-winning goal in the third period, we also lost game two in a complete blowout. The Blizzards clobbered us with a final score of five to nothing.
On the plane back to St. Louis, we’re all exhausted, and no one is talking. But no one is sleeping either. There isn’t a card game going on; no one has cracked open a beer. Coach Chris and his assistants are sitting up front and the rest of us are sprawled out in our seats either staring at our phones, or out the airplane’s windows into the dark of the night.
At least I have Brandon here with me. He’s leaning against me, his body heavy against my side. The only person who seems to be taking these two losses harder than him is Ivanov. He’s all the way at the back of the team plane, sitting with his arms crossed, grumbling to himself. One of us is going to have to go back there at some point to calm him down and get him out of his head. Personally, I nominate Danton for that job. I have enough on my plate with Brandon.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” I ask him.
“Not really.” He sighs. “I wouldn’t be able to pay attention to it anyways.”
“It’s only two games,” I tell him. “We’re still in this. And we all knew it was going to be hard.” I bump him with my shoulder. “Brush it off. No one is expecting you to score all the goals.”
“I know,” he says. “It’s just… the story, two brothers pitted against each other. Me scoring is what everybody wants.”
A small laugh escapes me. “That may be so,” I say. “But do you honestly think after all this is said and done, years from now, anyone is going to remember how many goals you scored against him the last few days? There will be far too many for them to keep track.”
“Maybe,” he says, laughing.
I look down at him and he’s looking up at me from where his head is resting on my shoulder. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re doing great.”
Brandon
The first words out of my mother’s mouth when I open the door to Ryan’s—no, our—apartment are, “You played so well. Your father and I are so proud of you.” She gives me a kiss on the cheek, then immediately turns her attention to Ryan. She wraps him in a hug. “You too, dear. Just the best two players on the ice.”
“You don’t gotta lie to the boys,” my dad says as he follows after her. He looks back and forth between the both of us. “You both played well, though. You should be proud of that.”
“We will be if we can get a win back,” I say. “The last thing we want is to be swept.”
“We won’t be,” Ryan says. He presses his hand firmly against my lower back as he steps around me to make his way to the kitchen. “As soon as we get back into our own barn tomorrow with our own fans, we’ll get a boost.”
“I agree with that,” my dad says. “There is nothing like a home crowd to get a team’s juicesflowing.”
“It’s hard to play in Buffalo,” my mother says, as if she’s done it.
“Even harder to play there when Gavin Marshal isn’t taking any penalties,” Ryan says.
“Yeah,” I agree. “I thought he was proud of his title. King of penalty minutes, my ass.”
“He’s changed,” my mother says, looking pleased. It’s like he’s her kid too or something. But then I remember, my mom has gotten to know him over the years. And though he was never a billet or anything like that, it doesn’t change my parents’ desire to welcome all hockey players into their home.
“Tell that to the giant bruise on Brandon’s hip,” Ryan says as he pulls a tray of French toast from the oven. Vicky dropped it off earlier and he’s been keeping it warm along with bacon and scrambled eggs, waiting for my parents ever since.
“He got you good, huh, son,” my dad says.
“I’ve had worse.”
“Liar.” Ryan laughs. He walks past me with the French toast in his hands and takes it to our seldom-used dining room table. He comes back and grabs the rest of the food. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s eat.”
We follow him and before I get a chance to take a seat, I notice that some décor has been added. On the wall I’m facing, I see both mine and Ryan’s Mules jerseys hanging next to each other. I then look over my shoulder. He’s done the same with our Hodags jerseys and beside them are my jersey from UDub and his junior team USA jersey from after he left Green Bay.
